Saturday, 11 May 2024 Prague, panoramic tour, the Charles Bridge, the castle, folkloric dinner
Written 10 June 2024
As of today, we're officially on cruise time (as opposed to precruise-extension time), so we'll finally meet some of our fellow passengers. Up to now, the tour groups have been mixed, assembled from the several Viking itineraries that happen to intersect in Prague.
A wonderful addition to the breakfast buffet was this "Brussels pâté with cranberry." It actually apeared the day before, but I didn't get a good photo of it or find out what it was. I was surprised at the prevalence of cranberries in Czech cooking, since I think of them as an American thing, but it turns out there is a European cranberry, a congener of ours. I don't know whether it's less tart than the American cranberry or whether Europeans are just used to sweetening it more, but it tends to be sweetened like jam rather than like a relish for meat as it is in the U.S. Anyway I was afraid that thick layer of jelly on top of the pâté would dominate the flavor, but it didn't—it was mild and neither too sweet nor too acid: delicious. The pâté is based on pork liver and is smooth and spreadable (except for the bits of cranberry embedded in it)—terrific on bread or toast!
At the right, you can see a slab of it on my breakfast plate, along with the scrambled eggs, sausage and pain au chocolat. Its crown of jelly has fallen off and is lying beside it.
Note the little cardboard disk idicating that the table is occupied. When you left, you turned it back to its green "this table is available" side so that the waiters knew to clear it and the next diner knew he could claim it by turning the disk back over.
At 8:30 am, we caught the bus (a genuine Viking bus this time, rather than a local hire) for our four-hour "panoramic" tour of Prague. "Panoramic" usually means mostly a bus ride, but we'd been warned that much of the old city is not bus-accessible and we might therefore be doing more of it on foot. Our guide was Renata (named, she said, after Renata Tibaldi); the driver was Olek.
The bus drove us from the hotel along the river to a spot where it parked to let us off for the walking portion. From there I was able to deploy the telephoto. At the left here is a little art nouveau château with a cupola, near the top of the ridge on the far bank, that used to be a private residence but is now a restaurant. At the right (below and to the left of the building in the first photo) is another building repurposed as a restaurant; I forget what Renata said it was before.
Farther to the left, right in front of us, was this glass-topped tour boat (its stern just visible in the previous photo). On the bank beyond it are (a) a long building on the river bank with three green domes, which is the seat of the Czech government (the prime minister has an office there); (b) above and behind its left-hand end, the red-roofed Prague Castle; and (c) sticking up out of the middle of the castle, the pointed black spires of St. Vitus cathedral. We'd be up there later.
And out of that shot to the left, the right-hand photo, much telephotoed, of a miniature Eiffel tower, apparently built with the approval of Eiffel himself.
From the river, we walked inland, into Josefov, the old Jewish quarter. On the way, Renata gave us more information on Prague and the Czech Republic. It's main industry now is tourism (or maybe that's just Prague). The population is 1.3 million, and more cars than people are registered. Wednesday (three days ago) was Liberation Day; Prague was the last city liberated at the end of WWII. Prague's river is the Vitava (called the Moldau in German). Czech is a slavic language. The old town of Prague was founded in 1230. It consists of 22 districts; the lower the number, the older the district. Finally, she said, on Saturday morning, 90% of locals go to the country, so it's quiet in town‐the crowds of people we see are all tourists.
The Jewish quarter was founded in 1200, but 100 years later, persecution and pogroms started (it was the age of the crusades) and it soon became a ghetto, where Jews were required to live and were subject to restrictions on their ability to leave it. The ghetto persisted until the 18th century, when it was abolished by Joseph II of Austria (Prague was then part of the Austro-Hungarian empire). At it's height, the Prague ghetto was the third largest Jewish population in Europe.
Within just a few blocks, we came to the old Jewish cemetery. At the left is the inscription on the gate; at the right is a shot through the bars, to show more of what's inside. Over the course of 350 years, 100,000 people were buried there, in layers. That's why the cemetery is so far above street level—when they ran out of space, layers of graves were added on top of existing ones. We'll get a more thorough tour on Sunday morning.
Through the middle of the old Jewish quarter runs Pařížská ulice, "Paris Street," now the premier upscale shopping street of the city. All the big international retailers have shops there—Hermes, Gucci, Dior, Prada, Jimmy Choo, Cartier, Louis Vuitton, Pinko, Longchamp, Furla, Celine, Moncler, Burberry, Bottega Veneta, and Valentino. It annoyed Renata that not one of them is Czech owned or based.
At the left here is the Old New Synagogue, which Renata said is the oldest still-active synagogue in Europe.
At the right, just across the street, is the Jewish community center, "Jewish Town Hall." High on its tower are "conventional clock faces with Roman numerals. Below, on the side facing the synagogue, is a clock with Hebrew numerals; it runs counterclockwise, of course.
Prague was occupied for seven years during WWII. Before the war, the Jewish community counted 36,000 members; now, even after years of recovery, it's only about 12,000.
Beyond the Jewish quarter, we came to the main town square. Swifts were screaming overhead as we strolled around it. The large statue at the left here is of Jan Hus (aka John Huss) and a bunch of his followers. He was burned at the stake in 1415 for heresy (i.e., advocating church reform), 68 years before Martin Luther was even born, and is sometimes considered the first church reformer. The majority Czech religion is still Hussite Protestant. The symbol of the Hussite church is a chalice.
At the right is the old town hall, dating from 1300. There used to be more of it, but the wing to the right was destroyed by the Nazis and has been replaced by trees, the first couple of which you can see at the lower right corner. It's the only medieval tower in town with an elevator. (Apparently, the tower we had dinner in two nights ago is not medieval.)
Also on the square are the baroque St. Nicholas church (protestant), right where Paris Street hits the old reaches the square, and the (catholic) Church of Our Lady before Týn (dating from the 14th century) with two stone towers. Tycho Brahe (among others) is buried there.
The tall yellowish house just to the left of Our Lady is the House of the Stone Bell, the oldest house in town, and the two buildings in front of Our Lady are the church school.
On the side of the town hall (the one opposite the trees) is the city's famous astronomical clock. It was installed in in 1410, so it's the third oldest in the world and the oldest still working (though it hasn't worked continuously— it's had to be repaired several times). Besides the time, it tells the phase of the moon and a bunch of other astronomical details.
The lower dial (at the right here) shows the signs of the zodiac. In the outer ring of medalions are images showing what the people should be doing during each one—plowing, planting, harvesting, slaughtering, etc.
Nearby was this building decorated with white figures on a black background. It's 500 years old, dating from the Renaissance. Renata explained that a thin layer of black plaster was spread over the white wall, and an artist engraved the figures on the surface by scratching away the black to reveal the white underneath. She gave the process a name, which I didn't catch and haven't been able to find. In modern English this process is apparently just called "scratch art." We all did it with crayons in the first grade, and you can now buy specially prepared black "scratch boards" for the purpose.
Right next to the clock was this doorway over which are carved many whimsical figures but that Renata pointed out as featuring the symbol of the Czech nation—the lion with two tails.
She pointed out a nearby orange building that is now part of city hall and is where you buy tickets to take the elevator to the top of the tower, in case we wanted to come back later to do that. And overlooking us as we studied the clock was a set of upstairs windows (above a Swarovski shop) each painted with "NC State." Members of our group all saw them and talked themselves into the idea that they were some sort of Czech government thing—I forget what they decided the "NC" stood for—but I looked it up later, and yes, that building is the headquarters of the Prague program of North Carolina State University. As a native of Chapel Hill, I cannot add "Go, Wolfpack."
Many of the streets radiating from the square were lined with old buildings painted in many colors (left-hand photo), and we followed one of them a short distance to a secondary square, in the center of which stood a hundred-year-old well enclosed in an iron cage (right-hand photo).
I don't know the story of the elaborately painted house you can see behind the well except that it was done in the 19th century for the owner, V.J. Rott, whose name appears in big red letters on the front. Several houses in the square retain the symbols over their doors that served as street addresses before house numbers came in with Napoleon—the fleur de lis, gold crown, blue horse.
Next, we walked back to the river, by a different route. As we went, Renata supplied ever more info abouy the Czech Republic.
On the way, walked through a huge complex building called the Klementinum; it encompasses churches, chapels, libraries, offices, and five courtyards. At the left is an aerial photo of it. Some nearby freestanding buildings also seem to be considered part of it. The two-tone buff-colored baroque building at the right here marks the complex's main entrance. A photo of it also appears on the wall above the aerial photo. I think it may house the Czech national ilbrary.
The photo below the aerial view is also near by; it used to be a Jesuit college.
The forbidding dark-gray building at the left here is the Clam-Gallas Palace, which houses the city's archives but also hosts musical performances. We didn't get to go inside, but Renata assured us that despite its drab exterior, it is over-the-top baroque inside.
At the right here is the 1912 new town hall, the one that's actually in use and where the mayor has his office.
I think this imposing building with six nudes standing above the doors is the Prague municipal library.
But the Klementinum included some intimate corners and narrow alleyways as well. And some charming art, like this little girl with a paper airplane perched on a cornice.
We emerged from the Klementinum into the square in front of the Church of St. Francis of Assisi (the building at the right-hand side of the left-hand photo). Dvorak practiced on its organ. The building facing it across the square is a museum. The gray tower marks the near end of the famous Charles Bridge, the oldest and for a long time the only bridge over the Vltava (now there are 18 bridge, but the Charles is the only medieval one). Since 1969, it's been restricted to pedestrians only, and a walk across it is listed everywhere (everywhere) as something not to be missed.
The statue in front of the church (shown closer up in the right-hand photo) is not St. Francis but Charles IV, for whom the bridge is named. The statue commemorates the founding of the university, so the four female figures around him represent its four schools.
Across the square, we stopped for this view of the slightly curved bridge. As you can see, the padlock brigade has discovered the railing &mash;the locks are removed monthly, but they keep accumulating. In addition, the flat surfaces on the barricades just this side of the railing have been plastered with stickers. A couple that I could read (but still not understand) said "UEFA Mafia" and "Anti Rapid."
We walked through the tower's arch, and headed across the bridge. It was still early in the day, so we had a little elbow room, but by noon every day it's packed edge to edge, shoulder to shoulder, with tourists.
Renata pointed out an inscription: 35797531 1357. I didn't catch what the all the digits mean, but the bridge was aparently started no 9/7/1357.
As we strolled, this cute little boat cruised by. I'm pretty sure those aren't real sailors—I think it's a boat you can hire for tours.
The right-hand photo shows Kampa Park, a highly rated restaurant that we hope to visit but never got to. Next time we're in town, I guess . . .
The statues that line both sides of the bridge are much younger than the bridge itself, added by the church. They form 31 sculptural gruops, 75 persons altogether. The lighter-colored ones are replicas; they're gradually being replaced, and the originals moved to museums.
From the bridge we also saw a couple of mallards and a pair of swans with seven cygnets. I also spotted a pair of ducks I couldn't identify. The male was black and white and looked sort of like a lesser scaup.
The man-made canal in the left-hand photo is 500-years old. The water wheel used to drive a mill of some sort, but is now just decorative.
The statue in the right-hand photo is of a Bohemian priest named John of Nepomuk. Note the five starts on a halo above his head. About 150 years ago, he was apparently the confessor of the Queen of Bohemia. She apparently was absent for longer than normal at some point, and her husband, Wenceslaus IV, suspicious that she was having an affair, pressured and then tortured John to reveal the secrets of her confession. He steadfastly refused and eventually had his tongue torn out and was thrown into the river (near the spot with all the padlocks on the railing). He drowned, but a circle of five stars rose from the waters over the spot. He has since been canonized and is buried in the church; the statue has shiny spots where people caress it as they pass.
The last statue on the bridge is Wenceslas I, "Good King Wenceslas" of the Christmas carol. He was also canonized.
Once we were over the bridge, Renata showed us a rendezvous point and turned us loose for a coffee/shopping break. David and I walked a ways into a side street and had a pleasant hot chocolate and coffee with our shipmate Chris in a sleekly modern little pastry shop.
Back at the rendezvous point, we continued our tour. As Renata explained, we were now in the "lesser town," once the abode servants and the poor but now the diplomatic quarter. Next on the agenda was to tour of Prague Castle and, within it, the Lobkowicz Palace, way up on top of the hill. Mercifully, we didn't have to make the climb. We walked a short distance to find our bus waiting to take us up there.
Along the way we passed all sorts of interesting things, including a bookshop called "Shakespeare and Sons" and a marijuana coffeeshop festooned with colorful banners, including one featuring larger-than-life-size caricatures of Snoop Dog and some other guy I didn't recognize.
At the top, the spot where the bus could park to let us out was at the right-most extreme of the castle (as viewed across the river from the Jewish quarter. On the walk back toward St. Vitus and the castle's main courtyard, Renata showed us this lovely "hidden" garden—a large circular pool with a fountain in the center and surrounded by paths and formal gardens. The figure in the center of the fountain is Hercules slaying a dragon with a club. Beautiful but noisy peacocks strolled the grounds, including one all-white one. The pool was full of huge, multicolored carp. The building next to the pool is the Wallenstein Palace (built by Albrecht von Wallenstein); it's now part of the government complex.
The photo at the right is about 1/3 of a panoramic orientation table that identified the various structures you could see from the garden. Left to right, they read Church of St. Thomas, Petriacute;n Tower, Church of St. Mikolas, Cernin Atrium, Lobkowicz Wing, and Cathedral of St. Vitus. We got to see St. Vitus up close but didn't go inside, and we got a thorough tour of the public parts of the Lobkowicz Palace (which is still privately owned by the Lobkowicz family).
Another feature was this winged lion, a memorial to the Czech pilots who joined the Royal Air Force.
Prague Castle started out more than 1000 years ago, as a small fortress. St. Vitus Cathedral is somewhat newer. It took 600 years to build and was only finished in the 20th century. The architect was French architect; th chevet features flying buttresses. The first church on the site was completed in 884; you can see remnants of it through a glass window over an excavation.
More information imparted as we walked: Prague has three metro lines, designated A, B, and C; the latter two pass near our hotel. One of the lines, A, I think, will get you near the castle. Shirley Temple Black was the first U.S. ambassador here in the current era. The royal gardens at Prague Castle were the first place tulips were planted in Europe. At another point in the walk, we crossed a bridge over a dry moat, called the "stag moat," where deer used to be kept. The presidential banner was displayed on the roof while we were there, because he was in the country—it's taken down when he travels abroad. The reason all this, including the castle and the Charles Bridge, is still here and intact is that Hitler lived in the castle for a while in 1939. He liked it so much that he chose it as his retirement home and didn't allow it to be bombed.
Here, at the left, is a membe of the president's guard, in his little guard house. He has to stand still, but only for an hour before he is relieved by another guard. The uniform was designed by Czech costumer Theodor Pištěk, who won an academy award for the costumes in the movie Amadeus. He was in town making the movie, so he volunteered. The uniforms date from the early 1990's, when they got rid of the communist ones.
Austro-Hungarian Empress Maria Theresa added to the castle and lived there for a time, so the architects were Viennese. We passed through a couple of the cstle's five courtyards, and the photo at the right shows the chevet of her private echapel, Sts. Peter and Paul, which protrudes into one of them.
When we came to the front gates of the castle courtyard, we could hear a band playing—we'd arrived during the changing of the guard. Unfortunately, many people had arrived before us, so we couldn't see anything over the heads of the crowd. Instead, Renata led us around the side to the "balcony," a spectacular overlook with a stunning view back over the river and the city.
Far below, we could see the Charles Bridge, and it was, by that hour, truly crammed with people. Glad we got there early.
We asked about one feature that puzzled us. It was a rough gray wall, about halfway between the castle and the river, that almost looked through binoculars as though it could be a heap of corpses. The only reply we could get was that it was a tomb, which didn't look plausible at all—it didn't seem to be a building, just a wall. They couldn't really have dipped corpses in cement and piled them up, could they?!
Only later did a Google search reveal that it's a tourist attraction called the Dripstone Wall, apparently made of cement stalactites created from cement dripped down the surface. It's actually part of the castle gardens. Strange.
Anyway, once we'd admired the view for a while and taken our photos, Renata led us back to the front gate, where the ceremony was breaking up. We got to see the red-jacketed band march away to their street beat. Whenever they came up behind dawdling tourists, the snare drummer rapped out a loud drum roll and crash to startle them out of the way.
Inside the front gate, we stopped to admire this decorated facade (one of the side entrances to St. Vitus, I think) as well as the red terra cotta Romanesque façade of St. George's church, dating from 921 (complete with statue out front of St. George slaying the dragon, of course). It's the oldest functional church still standing in Prague.
Next up was lunch in and a tour of the Lobkowicz Palace. When we signed up for the excursion, we were given a choice of main course: Czech-style goulash or vegetarian spinach lasagne. We both choose the goulash.
The first course was this excellent green salad with tomatoes and balsamic vinaigrette. The goulash appears at the right. It was much less paprika-heavy than the Hungarian version and was tender and tasty. It was accompanied by the my preferred version of bread dumplings—essentially fluffy white bread baked or, more likely, steamed in a mold and then sliced. It was perfect for sopping up the tasty goulash sauce.
Dessert was cheesecake, but not the American version. It reminded me much more of Italian cheesecakes made with ricotta and was topped by a sweetened sour-cream layer and berries. Yummy.
At the right here is a photograph of the current head of the Lobkowicz family, William Lobkowicz, and his wife Alexandra. To her left, you can see the famous portrait of the Spanish infanta by Velasquez.
From the dining room, we were ushered into this elegant music room. The photo at the right shows only part of one panel of the magnificent painted ceiling.
The chamber ensemble that performed for us—violin, cello, and piano—played pieces by Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, and Dvořák.
The Lobkowiczes are one of the oldest and highest-ranking noble families of Bohemia, prominent at least since the 14th century. They had vast holdings all over Europe, including 10 castles, of which the principal one was this one in the Prague Castle.
All that was confiscated by the Nazis in 1939. Once the war was over, the properties were returned to the family in 1945, only to be confiscated again in 1948 when the communitists took over, and the family was exiled again. During their first exile, the head of the family served as the Czech ambassador to England. During the second, the family settled in the area of Boston, Massachusetts, where William was born and raised and graduated from Harvard University.
Finally, in 1989–90, when the communist regime ended, the properties and palaces that William had grown up hearing about were once again restored to the family (amazingly, with the art collection intact), and he moved to Prague to live in the palace and manage the properties. Just have a look at the Wikipedia article on "Lobkowicz Family" to see a list of its present branches and learn about the many accomplishments and achievements of its many recent members.
Catered lunches like the one we enjoyed, admission fees to see the art collection, tours of the palace, and event rentals (you can book your wedding at the palace) help with the expenses of maintaining the place. As a Harvard-educated native speaker of English and an accomplished public speaker, William recorded the tracks for the audioguide to the art collection himself and did a very good job. He doesn't even have a Boston accent that I could detect. I don't know whether he also recorded the Czech version.
After lunch, we had time to do the audoguided tour of the public portions of the palace and the art they contain. At the left here is Velasquez's portrait of little Margarita Teresa again (the one that shows up in the background of the photo above of the Lobkowiczes). Besides being the infanta of Spain, she was (presumably through her mother) an archduchess of Austria.
At the right is a 19th-century painting by Carl Robert Croll of Roudnice, another of the Lobkowicz palaces (located on the Elbe about 50 km north of Prague). Maximilian Lobkowicz, William's grandfather, was in the process of restoring it in 1948, when he had to go back into exile.
This breaktaking large-format Canaletto, had a room to itself, together with another Canaletto painted about the same time (mid-18th century), when the painter spent time in London. The two scenes portray not Venice but the Thames.
Two paintings by Breughel occupy another room. One is from a cycle of 12 in which the painter protrayed the months of the year; only 5 are still extant. The one we saw is June/July, called "Haymaking."
As usual on these cruises, our time was up before we had seen a fraction of what was there. But it was time to turn in the audioguides and return to the bus.
On our way down a quite long "road" consisting of a series of shallow steps downward, we got this view of a small white building flying an American flag. It is the Gloriette Pavilion, in the gardens of the American embassy, and its flag is apparently the most prominent evidence of the presence of the U.S. on Czech soil.
We had been warned to look at our bus carefully, remember what our driver looked like, etc. so that we could be sure to find it in the bus parking area when we got back to it—it would have moved since it dropped us off. Of course, it also had a Viking Elbe sign in the window, which helped.
The bus took us a back to our hotel, arriving ca. 4:30 pm, at which point David bid me good-night and retired for the evening—he thought I was crazy to try to do three excursions in a day. but I rested my feet for a while, changed clothes, and reported to the lobby to meet the bus that would take some of us the "forkloric dinner" venue.
Here, at the left, is the place, in the village of Čičovický, pronounced more or less "cheechoveetsuh." It's called Čičovický dvůr, and you can read all about it at https://www.cicovickydvur.com/. Our dinner took place in a stone barn beyond this bright white building.
We sat at long tables. The decor consisted of burlap drapes and clusters of dried corncobs with the husks attached. While dinner was served, we were entertained by a fabulous three-piece ensemble consisting of violin, double base, and hammer dulcimer; a couple who danced; and a pair of blond singers who might well have been mother and daughter. When we arrived, they were playing Cielito Lindo for some reason, but they soon switched to more local melodies.
The food was not such a much, and the lighting was dim, so my photos tended to be blurry.
Soon after we sat down, we were served this rustic bread and pots of the typical paprika-tinted cheese spread.
The first course was potato soup. As you can see, it consisted of diced potatoes, carrot, and I think celery in an herb-strewn broth thickened only by the potato. We had the same thing on a couple of other occasions, and it was always very much like this, so I assume it's authentic.
The rest of the dishes were all served in size-and-shape variations of this white-polka-dotted enamel-ware—which, of course, was for sale in the gift shop; they made a good deal of money off our group that night, though I didn't buy any.
The main course included mashed potato, white cabbage, and red cabbage, all excellent, and a wide shallow pot full of chunks of beef, pork, and chicken, all overcooked and dried out, and all mixed together. Pitcher of thin gravy on the side.
Dessert was a rather chewy apple streusel tart.
Dinner was followed by more music and dancing. Audience participation was encouraged, and I would have liked to join in the polka, but I was seriously worried by ankles would buckle if I did. By the end of the evening, the band was reduced to playing When the Saints Go Marching In and If I Were a Rich Man, so it was back into the bus for the trip back to the hotel.
POSTSCRIPT ON THE NEW CAMERA: This was a long day, and it was the first since I acquired this new camera on which I used up a whole battery and had to switch to the spare, just as we approached the "balcony" with the lovely views over the city. I switched the batteries okay, but then the camera refused to take another photo until I had reset the date, time, time zone, and six other settings. What a nuisance! I didn't bother to reset the time and date correctly—I just clicked through the settings to get the camera working again. As a result my photos for the day did not downloaded in the correct order or even into the same folder on the computer. So if this page seems a little disorganized, that's one of the reasons why.
Unfortunately, this has proved to be a pattern. Every time the battery is changed, the camera forgets all its time, date, and location settings, plus a bunch of other stuff and will not proceed until I reset nine different items (some simple "ok" buttons and others requiring maneuvering the cursor around the screen before I hit the "ok" button). A fellow cruiser has since explained it to me—the camera contains a small internal battery that preserves those settings when the main battery is removed. Eventually, that battery gives out, will not recharge, and cannot be changed.
So for the rest of the trip, on every day when I had to change the battery, I had to go through the whole song and dance. I started just leaving everything on the default setting (must faster to click through) and then just changing the date on the downloaded folder of photos to the correct one, but that means that, on many days, some of my photos will be out of order. Hope I can sort them all out as I write the rest of the diary pages . . .
Next up: Before our text trip, shop for a new refurbished camera, this time with a working internal battery.
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